The Bad Mother: The addictive, gripping thriller that will make you question everything. Amanda Brooke

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      The transition might have been easier if she lived closer to her mum, but Lucy was getting used to life on the Wirral. She loved that it was a five-minute stroll to the beach, although that proposition had not been a tempting one today despite Adam’s helpful suggestion.

      When she heard the front door opening, Lucy lifted her book higher to obscure her face. She hadn’t spoken to Adam since hanging up on him, nor had she replied to his text messages. He had apologized and she wished he hadn’t. She was the one acting like a child.

      When the house fell silent, Lucy realized Adam had gone straight into the kitchen, confirmed a moment later when she heard the oven door slam. Adam had offered to pick up some food from Marks and Spencer on his way home and had asked her what she fancied. She wondered if he had responded to her radio silence by choosing his favourite cuisine, which was Chinese, or opting for hers. Her mouth watered at the thought of garlic dough balls; one of her many cravings in recent months.

      Adam was head chef and they didn’t often resort to ready meals but she presumed he had thought his time would be better spent shoring up his wife’s fragile ego while keeping a safe distance from the offending gas hob. As the seconds ticked by, however, Lucy began to fear that he didn’t want to speak to her at all. She put down her book and tucked her knees as close to her chin as her bump would allow.

      Rather than return to her studio after the argument, Lucy had spent the afternoon soaking in the bath and feeling sorry for herself. She had taken time on her make-up, which was perfectly understated, and had teased her damp mane into copper coils. She wore leggings and a sloppy jumper to give the illusion of vulnerability, but that feeling became unpleasantly real as she waited for Adam to appear.

      Lucy chewed her lip and stared at the door as she listened to Adam coming out of the kitchen. Her pulse quickened when his footsteps paused and for a moment she feared he had retreated upstairs, but then the door swung open. A breakfast tray appeared with a single red rose in a vase, two glasses of what looked like pink champagne but would be sparkling cordial, and a bowl of cheese puffs; another of her cravings.

      When Adam stepped through the door, his expression was one of caution, as if he were approaching a wild animal. ‘I know Valentine’s Day is a week off but I feel like I should make an effort,’ he said. ‘The lasagne’s going to be a while so these are to tide you over.’

      Lucy went to speak but it came out as a sob. ‘I’m such an evil cow,’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m being so horrible to you and I don’t deserve any of this!’

      Hiding her face in shame, Lucy couldn’t see Adam’s reaction but she heard him place the tray on the coffee table. The sofa sagged and a moment later, he was pulling her into his arms. She heard him take a breath to speak but she got there first.

      ‘Don’t you dare say nice things to me,’ she warned. ‘Tell me I’m a bitch.’

      He kissed the top of her head.

      When she looked up into his face, she hoped their daughter would inherit Adam’s kind eyes. They melted her heart. ‘I know you’re only trying to take care of me.’

      ‘And failing miserably,’ he said.

      ‘No, you’re not,’ she replied as she relaxed into him. ‘I shouldn’t need taking care of.’

      Adam had taken off his suit jacket and tie but, despite a day in the office, Lucy could still smell the fabric conditioner on his shirt. Adam could choose to go to work in T-shirt and jeans if he wasn’t meeting clients but he liked to dress smartly. He had been wearing a formal jacket when she had first met him that fateful summer’s evening, albeit matched with chinos.

      Adam’s boss, Ranjit, had organized an impromptu mid-week barbecue to celebrate a big contract and make the most of the glorious weather. Lucy had simply been dropping off the painting his wife had commissioned and she had been in a rush, needing to get home to pick up her backpack and tent before catching a coach to Leeds. She was dressed in her festival gear complete with cut-off jeans and flowers in her hair and was champing at the bit to get moving, but Ranjit had insisted on introducing her to his friends and showing off the portrait of his two kids. Adam had shown a keen interest, despite having no children or pets for her to paint, and she had given him her number. She had moved in with him six months later, had married him the following summer and this summer they would be parents. It had all happened so fast.

      ‘This forgetfulness is really getting to you, isn’t it?’

      ‘I felt better after speaking to Mum but knowing it’s my hormones doesn’t make it any less frustrating.’

      He gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Could it be that you’re not completely convinced it is this baby brain thing?’

      ‘It does make sense,’ she tried.

      ‘But …?’ he asked, and when she didn’t answer he added, ‘You’re thinking about your dad, aren’t you?’

      Despite her best efforts, Lucy could feel her frustrations rise up again, twisting her insides. She was trying not to think about her dad, and while her little mishaps were getting to her, she could accept that they were the benign symptoms of life as a new wife and mother, or at least she would if Adam’s prodding didn’t unsettle her so much. Did he see her unravelling in ways that she could not?

      ‘I know you mean well but this has nothing to do with what happened with Dad. I’m not the first person who’s survived a troubled childhood.’

      She shot him a pointed look but Adam didn’t flinch. He had told her only the salient facts about his early life, but it was enough for Lucy to realize that there was more than one way to rend apart a family. Adam had chosen to block out the pain of his past, which was fine, that was how some people survived. It had worked for her mum, and Lucy was eager to follow their example.

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ she continued. ‘I’m annoyed by my own carelessness, that’s all.’

      ‘Why won’t you talk about this, Lucy?’ he asked. ‘Is it too scary to admit that what happened with your dad might have left its mark?’

      Adam scrutinized her features but before he could find what he was looking for, she dropped her head back down on his shoulder. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy let her mind fill with memories of her dad reading to her, playing with her, laughing and joking. There were darker memories too, sounds of raised voices, doors slamming, and silence. It was the silence that had scared her most, but she had been too young to understand why.

      ‘I’m not denying it left its mark. I was eight years old and I was confused, especially when no one would give me proper answers. I was scared that what happened to Dad would happen to Mum.’

      ‘Or to you?’

      ‘Maybe,’ she confessed, holding herself so taut that her body trembled.

      With his chin resting on her head, Adam’s voice was muffled by her curls. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m not sure this is something we should ignore. You’re about to give birth and it’s natural for you to worry about what one generation might have passed on to the next.’

      ‘I know, but worrying won’t make it go away and talking about it isn’t helping,’ Lucy said as she forced herself up and reached for the glass of cordial. Taking a generous sip, she swallowed СКАЧАТЬ